Summary: Lenna, a doctor, has been captured by Hydra and is forced to tend to the wounds of the Winter Soldier. The man is deadly, and she is afraid, but she is determined to help him find his humanity. Will she be able to reach a man who is so broken?

Scars Written On His Skin

"Get in there! Quickly!" The guard roughly pushed me into the dark cell. My body ached from the beating he'd given me the day before. I had been kidnapped, beaten, and tortured by Hydra all in the last week. I was to be their on-hand doctor.

They could have killed me. I wasn't supposed to have overheard a conversation between two of their agents in that alley last Thursday night walking home from my shift at the VA hospital, but I heard every word, and they could have killed me for it. When they brought me to Alexander Peirce, the man in charge, he said I would be of better use to them alive, for the time being. My only thoughts in the next week were to survive. Survive and get the hell out of this place as soon as I could.

My only patient was to be a man whom they called The Asset. He was described as Hydra's deadliest weapon and it's most skilled assassin. From what I had gathered he had been on countless missions and never disobeyed orders or failed in his assignments. He had a powerful metal arm and could kill a man with the flick of his wrist. He was a ghost. Formidable. Deadly. I was nervous to be locked up in a room alone with him.

I looked around the room. A man was sitting on the cold stone floor his back against the wall. I single light bulb hung from the ceiling and flickered dimly. There was a faucet and sink with a small counter-top with cabinets, a metal stool in one corner of the room, and a drain in the middle of the floor. The guard threw a first aid kit bag in after me.

"Clean him, tend to his wounds, and push this buzzer when you are done. A guard will come collect you. Everything you need is in the bag and in the sink cabinet. There is a garden under the sink cabinet to clean him." He turned and added, "And make sure you don't upset The Asset. You're here because he killed the last doctor." He chuckled and left, leaving me with the man sitting in the dark corner.

I couldn't see him very well. His long shaggy black hair covered his face and he was hunched over. There was blood on the floor around him and on his suit. A lot of blood. It can't all be his blood, can it? I cleared my throat and spoke to him softly.

"Will you come sit on this stool so I can examine you?" I spoke timidly. He didn't look at me or say a word to me as he slowly got up from the floor and sat in the chair. His movements were robotic and he stared at the opposite wall in silence, with blank eyes and a set jaw.

"I'm Lenna, by the way." He made no response.

I could see him better now. He had a shadow of dark scruff on his face and chin, and his hair was dark and matted with sweat and blood. His eyes, though blank and emotionless, were fearsome and beautiful: blue and green and dark all at the same time. His suit was covered in blood and he had a prosthetic metal arm. The arm looked powerful and deadly.

After staring at his arm nervously for a few seconds, and thinking of what the guard had told me about the previous doctor, I remembered my instructions. I noticed first, a deep cut above one of his eyebrows. I decided I would take his vitals and then tend to the cut first.

"May I take your vitals?" I asked him quietly. He said nothing.

"I'll check your pulse first." I didn't want to touch him and put him in attack mode. He was very big and that metal arm was so intimidating. I realized to take his vitals he would need to remove his suit so I would have full access to him. Not to mention I needed to clean him too.

"Um, I just realized it would be easier for me if you removed your suit, that way I could-"

He interrupted me by standing up and immediately started undoing buckles and straps removing the blood stained clothes robotically. He kicked off his boots and unzipped his pants letting them fall to the floor. Stepping out of them, he kicked the pile of clothes to the opposite corner of the room. He stood by the table in black boxer briefs and a white tank undershirt.

"Thank you." I swallowed. "You can sit down again if you want." He sat rigid on the stool staring at the wall again. He seemed to be programmed to follow orders- as if he had been stripped of his free will. He followed orders and merely existed.

I placed my fingers lightly on his wrist to take his pulse. His skin was warm, which surprised me- he must have been in this cold dark room for hours.

"Your heart rate is slightly above normal, but nothing to be concerned about." I told him. He continued to stare blankly at the wall. I took the stethoscope from my bag to listen to his lungs. He lifted his shirt automatically, knowing my intent. He must know the drill. His chest was covered in bruises of varying shades of color. I could see faint scars that had long since healed over.

I placed the cold stethoscope on his chest and asked him to take a deep breath in and then slowly exhale. His chest rose under my hand. I moved the stethoscope slightly.

"Another deep breath please, in and out." He obeyed. "Lean forward for me." I asked gently. He did. His back was just as bruised and scarred as his chest. I placed the stethoscope on his back and he breathed in and out slowly as I listened. I could feel his muscles relax slightly.

"Thank you. Your lungs sound great." I said as I stepped away from him to write on his medical chart. I washed my hands and forearms thoroughly with a bar of soap sitting on the sink.

"Let's take a look at that eyebrow, huh?" He sat up straight still staring at the wall. I put on some latex gloves and took cotton balls, hydrogen peroxide, and a small sewing kit from the bag. The cut looked deep and I thought he might need a few stitches.

I took a cotton ball and moistened it with water from the sink. "I'm going to clean it first, OK?" He tensed again and sat up straighter as if he was expecting more pain. I gently pushed the hair away from the cut and tucked it behind his left ear. I dabbed softly around the wound cleaning away the blood and sweat. I decided I might as well clean up his whole face so I got a clean wash cloth from one of the drawers in the sink and run it under hot water to moisten it.

I wrung it out making sure it wasn't too hot, placed my hand gently on the back of his neck to steady his head, and softly began to wipe the filth and blood from the rest of his face. As I worked I could feel his eyes turn to my face. I glanced at his eyes for a moment. His brow was slightly furrowed, but he didn't look angry. Confused maybe. I gave him a slight smile and stepped away from him to get a new cotton ball with hydrogen peroxide on it to clean the cut. He continued to stare at me.

"I am going to sterilize the wound now to prevent infection. It will sting a bit." He nodded. I placed one of my hands on the side of his head and started dabbing the cut above his eyebrow. He inhaled sharply, and closed his eyes. His face remained blank, showing no signs of pain. With the cut clean I removed my gloves, and threaded the needle for stitches.

Then I realized something. There was nothing in the medical bag to numb the area or any sort of pain killers. I searched through all of the drawers and cabinets in the sink and there was nothing.

"I'm just going to push the buzzer and have someone bring something to numb the area so you're not in pain." As I started to walk to the cell door his metal arm reached out and grabbed my arm in a tight grip, jerking me back. My heart jumped and I turned to face him slightly frightened and confused.

"No." He said a hint of panic in his voice. It was the first word he had spoken to me.

"It will hurt." I protested tying to pull away. My eyes darted to his metal hand still gripping my arm.

"No." He said more forcefully and his grip tightened. I winced.

"Okay." I said. He let go of my arm and sat back on the stool, staring at the wall again. I rubbed my arm where his hand had been. It was red and would probably bruise.

I cautiously made my way back to the counter and picked up the needle and thread. I was a little more nervous to be within close proximity with him again, my hands were shaking, but I knew his wound needed tending. I willed myself to go into "doctor mode" and leaned in slowly, willing my hands to steady. He didn't even flinch when the needle entered his skin, though the muscles in his neck, back, and shoulders tensed. He closed his eyes and I could see his jaw clench. I pulled the needle through and worked as quickly and as accurately as I could.

When I was finished I stepped back to examine my work.

"All done." I said. He opened his eyes slowly, staring ahead.

Five neat stitches held the skin together above his eyebrow. I was proud of my work. It was the best I could do, given the circumstances. He hadn't flinched once, though his muscles were still tense.

"Do you have any other wounds I need to tend too?"

He didn't answer. I assumed his silence meant no.

"Then I suppose… I was ordered to clean you. What does that normally entail? Isn't there a restroom with a shower nearby?"

He stood abruptly, pushing by me and got the garden hose out from under the sink. He walked over to a spigot on the wall and attached the hose. He returned to me, handed me the hose, and removed his tank shirt and boxer briefs. He did all of this without any expression or embarrassment- as if it was absolutely normal. He stood in the middle of the room over the drain, his hands clasped in front of him.

"Clean." He said flatly, staring at the floor. Every muscle in his body was tense, anticipating being sprayed down with a forceful stream of icy water.

I couldn't believe this. He was so unaffected by how cruel and inhumane this was. To be hosed down like a farm animal or a piece of equipment. Hydra had taken any sense of humanity from him. To them he was not human, he was The Asset. He was their machine.

I was not going to treat him like them. I would treat him like the human being he was. He looked up at me expectantly, confused to why I hadn't moved.

"Not like this." I said with force. His eyes stared up at me under his furrowed brow. He remained standing still above the drain. His muscular, trimmed body was covered in bruises and scars; a lifetime of battles written across his skin.

I averted my eyes from his naked body and went to the faucet on the sink. I saw that the spigot on the sink could be attached to the garden hose. That meant hot water. I walked to the spigot on the wall, unscrewed it, and attached it to the sink spout. Why couldn't the doctors before me do this simple thing? He obviously expected it to be attached to the other spigot- he had gotten it ready for me.

I grabbed the bar of soap and then turned the faucet on, letting the water run until it was a comfortably hot temperature. I walked over to him, his eyes on me the whole time. I held the soap out to him.

"You scrub, I'll rinse. And we'll see what we can do with that hair." He seemed confused and unsure of what I had said.

I held the soap out to him again. "I'm not doing this all myself; you need to help a little."

He gingerly took the soap, still eyeing me timidly.

"Good, now lather it up and get as much of your body as you can soapy. Here's some water." He lathered the soap in the warm water. As the water touched his skin he looked at me, his eyebrows still furrowed.

"It's warm." He stated looking confused. How many icy hose-downs had he had to endure?

"As it should be. Come on now, soap it up." I held the hose up to his body.

The water trickled gently out of the garden hose down his chest and back. Then I asked him to lean his head forward so I could wet his hair. He did so and I was able to moisten it all, lightly running my fingers through it. Blood and dirt trickled down his skin in rivulets. When he was completely soaked in water, he slowly began to lather his skin timidly. He lathered the soap into his hair, scrubbing his scalp with his fingers. He leaned forward towards me again, his arms at his sides, and I rinsed the soap from his hair; my fingers gently combing through it.

I carefully took the soap from his hand, walked around him, and gently lathered his back and shoulders where he could not reach. His muscles stiffened at my touch at first, but began to relax as I soothingly ran the soap over his back and shoulders. The faint scars on his back made my brow crease in concern. I was extra gentle cleaning the scars on his left shoulder where his skin met metal, even though they had healed over long ago. They must have caused him great pain when they were a fresh wound. I wondered how he had lost the arm. I came around to his side and placed the soap back in his hand. I rinsed the soap off gently with the hose; he seemed to relax as I continued to stream the hot water over his shoulders, back and forth. I noticed he gingerly touched the ribs on his right side as he passed the bar of soap over the skin there. With the blood and dirt washed away, I could see that his ribs were bruised.

"Your ribs are hurting you?" I questioned, rinsing the soap off the front of his body. He stood a head taller than me and his shoulders were broad. I had to stand on my tiptoes to make sure there was no soap left on him.

He met my eyes but didn't say anything. He stood with his arms to his sides his hand loosely gripping the soap.

"I'm your doctor; you need to tell me what is wrong so I can help you." I said gently. He didn't respond.

"Let's get you dressed, and then I need to check them."

He silently walked over to the sink and took a pair of black boxer briefs and an old towel from the bottom drawer. I turned away so he could dry off and put the underwear on. After a few moments when I heard no more movement I turned around to face him. He was sitting on the stool again and seemed more relaxed after the hot shower. He was looking at the floor, his hands resting on his knees.

I walked over to him. "I'm going to feel the ribs on your right side, it may be slightly painful."

His eyes met mine, and he nodded.

I felt his ribs and could feel nothing broken. They were most likely only bruised. I told him this and then I took an ace bandage from the medical bag and wrapped it around his side, my arms reaching around his waist, my face inches from his as I reached around. I could feel his breath on my cheek. I secured the bandage and stepped back from him. His eyes bore into mine. I was lost in his eyes for only a moment, and then I moved to the sink. I found a clean white shirt in the same bottom drawer he had gotten the towel and underwear from. I handed it to him and he put it on, pulling it down over his bandaged ribs, still staring at me.

"I think that is everything, unless you still need any medical attention?" I asked him.

He continued to look at me, that same confused look in his eyes.

"No." He finally said. He looked away from me then and turned back to stare blankly at the wall.

I felt my heart sink at the thought that I would have to leave him now. That I would push that buzzer and be taken back to my cell to possibly be beaten, starved, tortured, and left in solitary confinement for who knows how long? All of that rushed through my mind as a stared at him. And then I thought of how he would be taken back to his cell and possibly the same would happen to him until his next mission. He would be treated as a machine again. The Asset. My heart ached to know I couldn't at least be there to give him some of his humanity back. He seemed to be thinking the same thing as he stared blankly at the wall.

I looked away from him and went to the buzzer on the wall, pressing it. I stared at the floor.

"Lenna." He whispered my name. I looked at him quickly, my eyes wide. He had said my name. He was staring into my eyes.

"Thank you." He said simply. He stared into my eyes for a few moments more, and then he turned to face the wall. His expression blank once again.

I didn't know how to respond. If I knew his name I would have called him that. Tears welled in my eyes.

"Of course, my friend." It was all I could say.

A guard came and took me back to my cell. I curled up on the small mat in the corner and cried, not for myself as I had done in the past week, but for someone else with a much worse fate than I.